Bobby Short portrait at the Cafe Carlyle. Soon after we landed we headed over to the Carlyle for a dinner show featuring OFAM favorite, John Pizzarelli and his wife Jessica Molaskey. Jonathan Schwartz was in the audience.
Brook Farm General Store. Our Chaz would enjoy being a shop dog.
In constant transit. Footwear report to follow.
I emailed with this nice gent about places to stay in Brooklyn. We ran into him–by chance–at the restaurant he manages, Marlow & Sons. In addition to serving food, they sell woven towels and Armor-Lux apparel.
A few doors down from Epaulet, we made a quick visit to Smith + Butler. Tom checked the fit on a Pointer chore coat. Just out of the frame, a reality TV couple browsed the inventory of nautical scarves, Barbour jackets and American workwear.
An all-important, end of day pause for cured meats at Los Paisanos meat market.
NYC/Brooklyn field trip, part two, coming next week.
Obituary reposted from the February 8, 2009 New York Times And a link to Verve records, her label. For starters, I recommend My Gentleman Friend and Blossom Dearie Sings Comden and Green. Listen to an in memoriam replay of Blossom Dearie on Piano Jazzfrom 2001.
If Norman Maine had never tracked down Esther Blodgett (and Esther Blodgett had never been rebadged as Vicki Lester), I’m sure Esther/Judy would have done just fine for herself singing jingles on the radio and decorating up her furnished single apartment at the Oleander Arms. I hybridize my version of the story peppering Esther’s apartment with interior design details from her more successful story world: white leather Barcelona chairs, zebra skin rugs and an indoor aviary. Esther maintains her weight by eating hearty sandwiches made for her by her elderly landlord, an Ann Miller look-alike.
From Irving Berlin’s lovely lyric, You Keep Coming Back Like a Song:
From out of the past where forgotten things belong You keep coming back like a song
You keep coming back like a song A song that keeps saying, remember
It’s too late for me to grow up in the nineteen forties–the historical site of all my celebrity obsessions, favorite fabrics, film score composers and vocal artists.
If People or In-Style magazine featured splashy profiles, breathless rumour-central reports or even grainy paparazzi snaps of Fred Astaire, Ida Lupino, Robert Mitchum, Richard Widmark, Bette Davis or Judy Garland, I’d sign up for a two year subscription.
I’m well into a decade I cannot name but I console myself with my netflix queue and by attending concerts featuring living singers who seem to be channeling stage personas and vocal stylings from the past.
In the past four years I’ve hustled to see performances by the following singers: Barbara Cook, Betty Buckley, Wesla Whitfield, Sylvia McNair, Maude Maggart, Tony Bennett, Audra McDonald, Shirley Horn, Luciano Souza, Patty Lupone and Andrea Marcovicci (from whom I received my first ever celebrity autograph).
Alas, I missed a few cruial talents before they departed to the place where they make you go to bed at eleven: Rosemary Clooney, Bobby Short, Ella Fitzgerald and Susannah McCorkle (I can at least say that I read their obituaries in current editions of the New York Times).
On my current to-see before they perish list: Blossom Dearie, Bernadette Peters, Elaine Stritch, Charles Aznavour and of course, Liza Minnelli.
…but worthy of notice as an archival clothing artifact. If one were shopping on my movie set for items to drag down into the bunker before the apocalypse–this would be the album playing on the portable turntable.